


A Study In Scarlet

by TheSunIsMyFlower



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-10-12 18:46:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17472974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSunIsMyFlower/pseuds/TheSunIsMyFlower
Summary: In which scarlet, the colour that would become so familiar to them, would not just be that of a string of murders, or the spots on a pill.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this is my first fanfic that im actually gonna be posting on here and it's kinda shitty but me and my last 2 brain cells tried to make it good? Idk we’ll see, aNyWaYs,,,,,, so there’s not gonna be smut all all cuz ew, like idk but um it's johnlock with a side of mystrade and it’ll be angsty as hell bc why not and it’ll probably have a happy ending idk. it's based off of the bbc sherlock and that’s all u need to know ok bye loves
> 
> Oh p.s. Also there’s gonna be quite a few scenes of self harm and stuff, idk but uhhhh heres a tw if u need one and if u feel depressed or suicidal please please call a hotline or tell someone bc u can’t go through that shit alone, if u search it up there’s one for most major countries so,,, please call. i love all of u take care of urselves and i hope you enjoy!

“No man burdens his mind with small matters unless he has some very good reason for doing so.” - _ Sherlock Holmes, A Study in Scarlet (Original Arthur Conan Doyle) _

 

_ (Sherlock pov) _

The night was completely miserable, but Sherlock wasn’t. Well, maybe a tiny bit if he was being honest, but he showed none of it, except for in the playful tantrums he threw when he lost a game of Cluedo to John. Outside, it was dark and raining , and it didn’t look as if it were to stop anytime soon. He didn’t mind of course, as it gave him more time to exist in the small bubble of their flat, pretending that it was the whole world, and he and John were the only ones in it.

 

After losing for the third time that night, Sherlock decided to make some tea for the both of them to clear his mind, so he would be able to think better for the next round.  _ Perhaps, I need to clear it of something else, or someone- wait no.  _ He got up and spun around to face the kitchen, his eyes lingering on John just a moment longer than was normal. John seemed to notice, so Sherlock quickly turned his gaze away.

 

“What kind of tea would you like, John?” he asked, almost whispering, not wanting to disturb the tranquility of the quiet flat.

 

“Oh black tea would be just fine, thanks. Oh with-”

 

“Two creams, no sugar.” He had already known what John was going to say before he’d asked, he had just wanted to hear John’s voice- _wait that couldn’t be right, I just wanted to_ _hear John’s confirmation._ He shook the thought from his head, without actually moving a muscle.

 

“Um… yeah, thanks.” John looked confused for a second, but smiled softly at Sherlock and started resetting the game. Sherlock moved to the kitchen in a few graceful steps, his long legs bringing him to avoid the experiment table, and right around to the counter with the kettle on top.

 

He filled the kettle with tap water and plucked two teabags from the cardboard box in the cupboard, yanking his sleeves back down when they rode up his arm. He was wearing a blue jumper, uncommon for him, but John had bought it for him and he couldn’t resist. He also had a pair of grey joggers on and some mismatched socks. It would usually bother him, but with just John, he didn’t care so much. Suddenly, the kettle went quiet. He poured the boiling water into the two mugs he had prepared, and plopped the teabags in. He walked back to the sitting room where John was and set the tea mugs down quietly, giving John a warm smile.

 

He wasn’t usually an expressive person, keeping his face in a steely, passive expression, but alone with John, he allowed his face to relax. He still didn’t feel much, but around John, ut was as if the world became just a little warmer.

  
  


-x-x

  
  


It had been at least 5 games of Cluedo later, and the both of them had been getting quite drowsy, babbling on about nothing and everything, John talking about his feelings and such, while Sherlock rambled quietly about cases he had yet to solve. Suddenly, John mumbled something just out of earshot of Sherlock.

 

“What did you just say John? I couldn’t quite hear.”

 

“I asked you ‘why you never talk about anything other than work?’ It's always ‘oh this case, oh that murder’ but that’s all.”

 

“What do you mean ‘other things?’ What is there to talk about?” Sherlock was truly confused when he asked this, his brain too tired to discern what John could have meant.

 

“I mean like feelings, or your hobbies, or simply the things that make you happy.” John seemed to say this almost urgently, with a hint of distress in his voice, although Sherlock couldn’t tell for sure, and he sure as hell didn’t know why it would’ve upset the doctor in the slightest.

 

“Well John, it’s because I simply don’t have emotions quite strong enough to talk about. And my hobbies don’t really make me happy, they’re more of a pass time, but I talk about cases because I find them more interesting than anything else.” He stopped for a second to plan out what to say next and continued, “but lately, I’ve had trouble, and I’m very distracted.” Sherlock stopped talking, and looked down at the board to roll the dice and move his game piece. 

 

“Oh, well, why is that?” Sherlock could tell that John was trying to make him open up, but he wasn’t sure quite what about. He wasn’t even sure why he was distracted lately. It was like,  _ almost like whenever John is around, my thought process slows-  _ **_no_ ** _ it’s just because I’m tired.  _

 

“I’m not quite sure, it’s almost like when certain people are around, I can’t think as clearly, and my focus is suddenly on them.”  _ Great,  _ he thought,  _ now he most definitely knows how I feel.  _ And yet, he himself didn’t know how he felt, so he told himself had nothing to fear John knowing.

 

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say that you had a crush on someone, but knowing you as you, I’m not quite sure. Say, who did you say it happened around again?” He said the last part in a teasing way, but he seemed too tired to fully tease Sherlock.

 

“I never said who, and you won’t be getting an answer if you ask.” Sherlock said this firmly, but with a hint of nervous trembling in his voice. John seemed to pick up on it, and cocked his head.

 

“You know it's ok to tell me, right? I wouldn’t judge you or think any less of you if you did have, y’know, a crush or something.” He said this with hope in his voice, and Sherlock could’ve sworn that John’s cheeks had a light dusting of pink. 

 

I don’t have silly little crushes, John.” He said this almost sternly, but his eyes held an uncertainty that he prayed John wouldn’t see.

  
  


-x-x

 

_ (John pov) _

 

“C’mon Sherlock! Just one glass, it’ll calm you down.”

 

“Fine, if it makes you shut up!”

 

John handed Sherlock the glass of wine he had just poured, and proceeded to pour another for himself. He needed to get the truth out of Sherlock, and he was willing to risk Sherlock finding some things out that might have been better left secret. 

  
  


-x-x

 

_ (Sherlock pov) _

 

“Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit.” The curses tumbling out of his mouth as quiet as a whisper, but John still hearing them from across the room

 

“What’s wrong?” John sounded worried, but too tired to question Sherlock if he excused himself.

 

“Ummm, nothing. Go back to bed John I’ll be back in a minute.” John muttered something nonsensical and went back to sleep. Sherlock shot up and panickedly stumbled to the bathroom, nearly running down the hallway. He was sure John hadn’t remembered what he had told him the previous night, but how could Sherlock forget? The words seared into his brain, leaving burn marks that only he could feel. But he couldn’t really feel much of anything. He **needed** to feel it, needed to see it running down his arms in sticky streams, because he needed to see it was real. 

 

_ “I LOVE YOU JOHN, DON’T MAKE ME SAY IT AGAIN!” _

 

_ “Oh… I, um… wow” _

 

_ “Oh god, I shouldn’t have said that I’m so sorry please forget it, just forget all of this!” _

 

He took out the box from where he’d hidden it behind everything else in the drawer, so far back that no one would see it. He had even made sure that the box’s exterior roughly matched the inside pattern of the drawers beneath the sink.  _ God _ , he thought, _ it’s been so long, should I really do this again? _ But before he knew it, his arms were like rivers of scarlet, the blood running down the sides as if they were glass, but he kept slicing and slicing as if his arms were paper, and he needed to destroy the words written there. He was losing too much blood, too fast, he knew this, but he didnt stop.  _ I  _ **_won’t._ ** _ Not until every single vein in my fucking body had been sliced in two.  _

 

“Sherlock? Hey Sherlock it’s been almost half an hour, are you ok in there?” 

 

Paralyzed, all the blades dropped onto the tiles, making a horrendously loud noise as they fell, and clanging on the ground, giving everything away. The sound reverberated across the cold room, with the harsh fluorescent lights and  _ everything just hurts so fucking much _ . He couldn’t breathe, he was getting light headed and spots were taking over his vision. He fell, his head hitting the tiles hard, as a sort of terrified numbness took over his body. He couldn’t see, couldn’t think. His mind was screaming out, but he was the only one who could hear.

_ John pov) _

“Hey, Sherlock, I’m going to come in ok?” He called out in desperation, knowing what he would see behind the door, but not wanting to accept it, not wanting to accept that his sarcastic, funny, caring-but-only-for-John, amazing, smartass, sometimes-a-dumbass-too, roommate was breaking inside this whole time. Not wanting to realize that he believed everything anyone said about him, that every time that Donovan **bitch** called him a freak, that he really believed her, with every vein in his beautiful body. 

He breathed in, and out, and then, suddenly remembering that the love of his life was dying behind the door, shoved it open. He had his eyes closed, bracing himself with what he’d see, when he suddenly felt a force slam into him and throw him onto the floor.  _ It was the door. Sherlock is ok, he closed the door.  _ John almost passed out with relief.  _ Wait fuck. I just thought of him as the love of my life. _

 

_ (Sherlock pov) _

_ I can’t let him know, I can’t I just absolutely cannot, he’ll never see me the same as he did, I’m just a freak, just kill me already!  _ As he stumbled towards the door, all he could think about was John and how he never wanted the doctor to see him in such a manner. He got to the door just as it was about to fly open, and he could feel the force against him, as he gathered every bit of energy left in his bleeding out, malnourished, dying body to slam the door back closed. 


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uhh,,,, its been a hot minute y'all but we're back! A lot of shit's been happening recently, I've been super busy and also really just not feeling like writing bc a lot of bad things happened this month and tbh it's been really hard for me but I'm back with another chapter yee haw. I said it would be longer but its not,,,, It's actually kinda shitty and more of a filler and also bc its been more than a month and there's not really an excuse for that. Ok i hope u enjoy!!

 

_ (Sherlock pov) _

 

“Sherlock, what happened?”

 

“Nothing, it’s fine, I’ll be out in a minute.” Sherlock started grabbing blades, gently shoving them back into the box, but he was still careful not to make too much sound. He hid the box, then started washing up as quickly as possible. He wiped the last of the blood from the floor, and proceeded to bandage his arms before pulling his sleeves down, quietly opened the door, and went to his bedroom. 

 

He took his violin up into his arms, and played, and played and played. For days, no one could stop him. There were short gaps when he went to the loo, and John tried to get him to talk every time, but to no avail, as Sherlock would shove him away as he approached. Even Mrs. Hudson couldn’t get a word out of the detective.

 

He knew John was worried, and he knew John thought that he was mad, and he hated hurting John in this way, but he was too nervous of his voice betraying him. He played louder and harder than he had played before, to drown out the sound of his tears. No matter how quiet they were, he couldn’t risk anyone hearing a single sob.

  
  


-x-x

 

_ (John pov) _

 

John jolted awake. He was on the couch, his whole body sore from having fallen asleep in that position. His mind was racing as soon as he was aware of his surroundings, because something was different, something he couldn’t quite put his finge-  _ bloody hell the flat is silent! Sherlock’s violin playing is gone.  _ He heard some noises upstairs that sounded vaguely like footsteps and drawers opening, so he sat down on his armchair and waited for Sherlock to come downstairs as he surely would.

 

_ (Sherlock pov) _

 

His strides gave away nothing as he reached his usual spot on the couch, his movements calculated and calm as he sat down. John was staring at him, but Sherlock just looked away, unable to look him in the eyes. He stared at the window, thoughts like a whirlwind in his head, tearing around, and surrounding him in his mind palace. It was so loud to him, the cars outside, the rustling of trees in the wind, and yet the silence between them was the most deafening of all. 

 

“Sherlock, we’re going to have to talk eventually, you do realize that?” John sounded uncomfortable, his voice portraying uncertainty and suspicion. He shuffled forward, resting his elbows on his knees. John had the saddest of smiles on his worn face, and Sherlock felt just a tiny crack form inside of him.

 

“You really should sit up straight, your posture is awful, and you’ll have enough back problems in your elder years as it is.” Sherlock immediately felt awful. “I’m sorry, I don’t do that well with whole talking thing, have you noticed?”

 

“It’s fine Sherlock, but we really do have to talk about it.”

 

“Talk about what, John?” The tension in the air intensified, as Sherlock put on his best detective face, boring his eyes into John’s, as if trying to figure out what his behind them. 

 

“You know what, you know exactly what.”

 

“Contrary your beliefs, I don’t John, so why don’t you tell me?” It was suffocating, as if the sirens, and car horns, and trees from before had all dropped dead, and left the world silent. The golden sun rays poured into the sitting room, but they only made world feel more still, seeing even the dust particles come to a lazy halt. 

 

“Tell me what’s going on, Sherlock. You haven’t eaten or drank water for days, you’re on the brink of death, locking yourself up and playing that damn violin in your room so loud that the entire street can hear you. Something must be the matter, so stop playing dumb, and tell me what the bloody hell is going on!” John paused, out of breath, “and I know exactly what happened in the bathroom the day before, so don’t try to bullshit your way out of that one.”

 

“John listen, It’s ok. Im completely fine.”

 

“No, it's not ok, we have to talk about it. You’re near dead Sherlock! Something is bothering you. I’m not going to let you just suffer without telling me.”

 

“I’m not suffering Jo-”

 

“Yes you are, just look at you” John laughed dryly, “for the man who observes everything, you’re so bloody blind sometimes, can’t you see? You’re destroying yourself over God-knows-what, and you’re either playing dumb to rile me up, or you’re so incredibly sad that you can’t see what’s happening.” He hesitated before going on. “Please tell me Sherlock, I can’t bear to see you like this.”

 

Sherlock looked down at his shoes, slightly scuffed after stumbling up the stairs, he’d have to polish them sometime.  _ Stop Sherlock, stop thinking about your bloody shoes and say something, anything to John. Make up something, just don’t let him get mad at you again.  _

 

“I said something, something which I cannot tell you, but I regret it deeply and wish to forget it. Of course I am not able to, as it’s stuck in my mind palace. Is that enough? I must be going as I have some business to attend to”

 

“What ‘business’ could you be attending? You haven’t interacted with anyone in days.”

 

“My brother, as you know, sees everything anyone does, and he texted me earlier today saying he’d wish to see me.”

 

“Why are you talking like that Sherlock?”

 

“Talking like what?”

 

“Like that, all professional, talking to me like I’m a client?”

 

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll be back in two hours, and if I’m not then my brother has probably kidnapped me and fed me so much cake I can’t move. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be off now.”

 

“Sherlock!” John yelled, but the hurt in his eyes showed he didn’t mean to. “Please.” He tried to sound comforting but the crack in his voice showed that he was on the edge of tears.

 

“Fine. It can only be 10 minutes though, as my brother would not be pleased if I were to be late.” Sherlock showed no emotion on his face, yet the gesture of allowing John even just those ten minutes calmed John down, letting him gather his words together.

 

“Please Sherlock. There has to be more to it doesn’t there? I mean, Jesus, you’ve been hiding from me in the loo doing, you know,  **that** to yourself, and you don’t want to talk to anyone and you’re a complete disaster! Just look at your har, it’s a mess! You haven’t slept in days and there’s obviously something else wrong. I care about you Sherlock. Even Greg is worried so just tell me. What’s wrong?”

 

“ John, I… I’m not quite sure how to tell you alright? I promise to you,” Sherlock looked into John’s eyes and put his hand on his shoulder, “I will tell you. But I just can’t right now. I’m… I’m sorry, John.”

 

“Sherlock…” John drifted off, dropping his head down, and looking back up at Sherlock with pleading eyes.

 

“I’m sorry, John.” And with that, he turned promptly around, his coat swishing behind him as the door shut, the sound echoing through the street outside, making it feel all the more empty.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im going to just start leaving a few hotlines @ the end of these chapters 
> 
> suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
> 
> self-harm hotline: 1-800-DONT CUT or 1-800-334-4357
> 
> eating disorders hotline: 1-800-931-2237
> 
> stay safe, ily!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi this was a short chapter oops, i promise they'll get longer


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